


if you're hurting (lay it all on me)

by bulletproofbackrubs



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, graffiti au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5448044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletproofbackrubs/pseuds/bulletproofbackrubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There was something attractive about Beca, that wasn’t just her night sky eyes or her soft brown curls. It wasn’t even the semi-permanent smirk of her soft pink lips. </p><p>Okay, so maybe it was a little bit of those things. But there was something else that made her alluring. Maybe it was the silver paint that surrounded her fingernails, or the fact she was clearly an amazing and underappreciated artist. Obviously, she was good with her hands – which is a thought Chloe dismissed as rapidly as it had flew into her brain.</p><p>Beca was as intriguing as she was modest and shy. And Chloe found herself wanting to know everything about her."</p><p> </p><p>Or, the graffiti au idea I had a few weeks ago, and have been hype about it ever since.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If you're scared when you're out on your own

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is going to be fairly long. 10k at least. And I'm really enjoying writing it, so I hope you guys enjoy reading it :)

 

Chloe Beale lives her life through music. From her belting out show tunes in the shower to her humming melodies under her breath instead of listening to her Geometry teacher. From the tapping of her hands on the counter of the coffee shop where she works, to the steps she takes as she walks on the pavement.   
  
Today, walking home after she finishes her shift, Chloe’s feet are matching the beat of Beck’s _Dreams_.The journey home is usually familiar and quick, but it seems longer and less comfortable in the dark winter nights. Music helps. It makes her feel safe.  
  
It’s been a long day, and Chloe’s bones ache with exhaustion. She tries not to imagine how different her life could have been, if she had gone to study music in L.A last year like she had wanted. But her parents hadn’t wanted that. Chloe had never been one to disappoint her parents, and she wasn’t about to break her streak then. As much as she had wanted - _still_ wants - to do just that. But it’s too late. And thinking about it makes Chloe’s chest clench and twinge uncomfortably.  
  
So she goes back to singing under her breath, clearing away the shadows of her mind and trying not to notice the ones around her.  
  
When she notices a small hooded figure at the end of the alley only metres away, she nearly chokes on her own frightened gasp. Chloe, as always, is anything but subtle (except when it comes to talking to her parents about her studies and own happiness – _then_ she can be pretty conspicuous). Now though, she hadn’t been so elusive, because the figure had apparently heard Chloe, and turned around to face her.  
  
At once, Chloe felt the fear in her throat subside. The figure, the _girl_ standing in front of her could have only been Chloe’s age, or maybe even younger. She was small, and was looking at Chloe with a doe-eyed look of surprise. Chloe’s lips curved into a warm apologetic smile.  
  
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you, I just didn’t see you.”  
  
The other girl pushed her hood down and ran a hand through her hair. It was a deep brown, the streetlights giving it a chestnut color, and hung to her shoulders in messy curls. Chloe distractedly thought that whoever this girl was, she had really pretty hair.  
  
“It’s fine,” came a mumbled reply.  
  
It was then Chloe noticed what this girl was holding. A paint canister. Her huge black parka jacket was covered in patches of silver and blue paint. Chloe must have been looking a touch too long though, because the girl brushed a hand over her nose anxiously and crossed her arms defensively over her chest, tucking the canister under her arm. “Do you want something, or do you have somewhere you need to be?”  
  
“Oh, no. Sorry.” Chloe shook her head, feeling slightly self-conscious. Which was stupid, because _she’d_ been the one staring at this girl only a few moments ago. “Holy smokes! Did _you_ do that?” Chloe exclaimed after noticing the wall behind the girl. Even in the dark she could see how beautiful it was. There was a huge CD painted, perfectly shaded and highlighted. Interweaved through and around it were headphone wires, the speakers sitting on either side of the CD. Chloe blinked in awe, moving around the girl to get a closer look. If the paint didn’t look still wet, Chloe probably wouldn’t have been able to resist reaching out and touching it.  
  
“The aerosol can and paint-stained fingers not answer that question for you?” the girl quipped behind her. When Chloe turned back around to face her, she met the girl’s suspiciously raised eyebrow with a beaming smile.  
  
“This is _incredible._ Like, super pretty.” _Like the artist_ , Chloe hears herself say, thankfully internally,  
  
“Thanks,” she answers, although Chloe doesn’t think she sounds convinced. Which confuses her a little, because _oh my goodness_ this girl was super talented. Surely she knew that already?  
  
“It really is,” Chloe insists. “How long have you been painting for?”  
  
She bristles a little at that, looking slightly irritated. Worry strikes in Chloe’s throat, instantly worried she’s asked the wrong question. But it’s slightly relieved when she answers plainly, “Almost a year.”  
  
“Well, you’re amazing at it.”  
  
The girl hugs her arms tighter around her ribs protectively, and Chloe gets the idea she probably hasn’t been told this many times before. Which again, confuses her. The painting is just _so_ pretty.  
  
“Strangers who catch me committing a criminal act aren’t usually so approving,” she says, and Chloe can hear the hint of a smile in her words, despite the girl’s wary expression.  
  
It’s getting really dark now, but Chloe can still make out the colour of the girl’s eyes. A deep blue that reminds Chloe of the night sky above them, the streetlights reflecting off them to look like stars. Before she gets caught up in staring again, Chloe shrugs. “You’ve obviously never met a stranger with such good taste, then.”  
  
“Obviously.” There is a smirk on her face now, and as Chloe watches it she almost forgets that she is supposed to be on her way home.  
  
“And, _technically_ we’re no longer strangers anymore.”  
  
“Is that so? Or did I miss the exchanging of names in this incredibly brief conversation we’ve been having?”  
  
Chloe smiles brightly, stepping forward and jutting her hand out. “Chloe. Chloe Beale. Eighteen, nineteen on Valentines Day.  I go to Barden University and work at a cafe.” The girl regards her for a moment, waiting until Chloe has finished introducing herself before grasping Chloe’s hand back briefly with her free. Her hands are freezing against Chloe’s warm skin.  
  
“Beca. Mitchell. Seventeen. Eighteen in November. I…um, paint. And...I occasionally work in my dad’s book store when I need cash.” She avoids Chloe’s eyes when she speaks, running her hand through her hair again before shoving both in her pocket along with the paint canister.  
  
They flash up to Chloe again when she gasps excitedly, eyes widening. “You’re seventeen?! So, does that mean you’ll be coming to Barden next year?”  
  
Beca sighs with a roll of her eyes towards the sky above them. “If my dad gets his way, yes. If I get _my_ way, no chance in hell.”  
  
With a wrinkle of her nose and a tilt of her head, Chloe says, “Oh. That’s a shame. It’s not _too_ bad of a school. I, for the record, hope you do choose to come. On your own terms of course.”  
  
“And why is that?” Beca said with a slow raise of an eyebrow. “We literally only _just_ met – I could be a complete asshole for all you know.”  
  
“You’re not.”  
  
“Oh, but I am,” Beca said with a shrug. “I _graffiti_ and everything.”  
  
It was Chloe’s turn to shrug this time.   
  
There was something attractive about Beca, that wasn’t just her night sky eyes or her soft brown curls. It wasn’t even the semi-permanent smirk of her soft pink lips.  
  
Okay, so maybe it _was_ a little bit of those things. But there was something else that made her alluring. Maybe it was the silver paint that surrounded her fingernails, or the fact she was clearly an amazing and underappreciated artist. Obviously, she was good with her hands – which is a thought Chloe dismissed as rapidly as it had flew into her brain.  
  
Beca was as intriguing as she was modest and shy. And Chloe found herself wanting to know everything about her.  
  
“You do, but that makes you a criminal – not an asshole,” she said, giggling when Beca rolled her eyes. “I’ll bet you couldn’t hurt a fly.”  
  
“You have no idea how much damage I’m capable of.” The edge to her voice took Chloe by surprise, but it was less harsh due to the quiet of Beca’s voice. Her hands were still stuffed in her pockets, and Chloe thought she looked even smaller than when she’d noticed Beca at a distance.  
  
“I guess I don’t. But I think I’d like to find out.”  
  
Beca shuffled a little on her feet, looking more self-conscious than uncomfortable, and it was so cute that Chloe had to hold back a smile. When she looked up again at Chloe, she had that signature smirk back on her lips. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya, Chloe Beale.” And the smile broke out of Chloe’s.  
  
“Deal,” she promised. “Well, I work at ‘Sugar House’ about three blocks away, if you’re interested.”  
  
“Yeah, I know it.”  
  
“Awes,” Chloe beamed. Beca gave a tight-lipped smile in response, but Chloe could see amusement flashing behind her lashes. “Oh _shit!_ I was supposed to be home like, twenty minutes ago! I gotta go, Beca. It was… It was really lovely meeting you. You should totally come hang out at Sugar House. Even if it’s not to see me again. We have the _best_ muffins that it’d be a _crime_ to live in this town and never try one.”  
  
“Ah, see. The crime thing doesn’t bother me that much. I’m a graffiti extraordinaire, remember,” Beca winked, tapping the side of her head with one silver and blue finger. Chloe stepped forward, before jutting out a lip and fluttering her eyelashes, a trick that she’d learned at the early age of eight (and it hadn’t failed her since). Apparently, it worked a treat on Beca too, because within a few moments of staring Chloe down, she relented. “Okay. Fine. I’ll think about it at least. God, you’re so weird Chloe Beale,” but her smile took away any menace behind it.  
  
Without thinking, Chloe stepped forward again, close enough to wrap Beca into a tight hug. When she felt Beca stiffen, she pulled away quickly, thankful to find Beca didn’t look annoyed at her, just a little taken aback. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I’m a hugger.”  
  
“ _So_ weird,” Beca muttered, and Chloe slapped her on the arm lightly.  
  
“Shut up, Beca Mitchell. Okay, oh my god, I really gotta get going.”  
  
Beca took a step back, lifting her hand again to scratch at her head looking pointedly down at the ground as though it was displaying some important information. “I, um, if you’re late… Do you maybe, want a ride home?”  
  
Chloe’s eyes widened in surprise. “You drive?” It was almost funny, the idea of tiny Beca driving a huge car. Before she could make a joke, Beca was motioning over to the road behind the wall of the alley they stood in.  
  
“A motorcycle. But you can wear my helmet,” she offered with a clear of her throat.  
  
This girl was turning out to be brimming with surprises. Chloe wanted to know them _all._ “A motorcycle, huh? Wow, you really do try to live up to your, totally false by the way, badass rebel status.”  
  
“Shut up, Chloe Beale,” Beca mocked in a poor imitation of Chloe seconds earlier. “Do you want the ride or not?”  
  
“Yes, please. Thank you, Beca.”  
  
“S’no problem,” was the mumbling reply.  
  
Beca’s motorcycle was sleek, black and silver, and in much better condition that Beca’s jacket. Reading the brand on the side, Chloe saw it was a _Honda CBF 125 --_ whatever that meant. It looked fairly new, and although Chloe knew zilch about scooters, cars, or motorbikes, this bike was beautiful. “Woah.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s pretty sweet,” Beca shrugged. “Okay, so I’m gonna have to put your helmet on, because you don’t look like the kind of chick who knows how to do that. No offense.”  
  
“None taken.” Beca turned to face Chloe, tugging down the helmet over her head. It was heavy, and Chloe wondered how it didn’t fall all over Beca’s head. It smelled like the coconut of Beca’s hair. This close, she could see a thin white scar on Beca’s cheek and a freckle above her left eyebrow. Too busy roaming her eyes over Beca’s face, Chloe almost squeaked when Beca’s cold fingers brushed under her chin to fasten the buckle and pulled her out of her trance.  
  
Apparently looking at Beca Mitchell for too long could do that to you.  
  
She didn’t get a chance to do it for much longer though, because Beca was climbing onto the bike and looking at her expectantly. “Uh, okay. You’ll have to put your hands on my hips, or something. Just so you know, you don’t fall,” Beca coughed, so low Chloe almost didn’t hear her. Honestly, her embarrassment was nothing but precious, Chloe thought.  
  
Swinging her leg around, Chloe sat behind Beca and snaked her arms around her waist until her hands were flat against her abdomen, smirked when she felt Beca’s tensed inhale. “Yeah. That’ll do. So…where am I taking you?”  
  
“Fountains Park. It’s like, four blocks away.”  
  
“Yeah, I know it.”  
  
With a kick of her leg and twist of her key, Beca jolted the bike into life and drove them off into the darkness. Chloe’s lips curved into a smile reflexively, when she felts the wind whipping against her cheeks, and hoped that this wasn’t the last time she was going to be on the back of a motorcycle. Or maybe just this one in particular.


	2. Something in the air is giving me bad ideas

A week later after her encounter with Beca in the alley, Chloe was working a day shift in Sugar House; college had finally broken up for winter break. She loved being at Barden, but God, school had really been kicking her ass. Working in the café was _so_ much nicer than studying in the freezer of a library at 2am. However, she’s been up since 6am today, and she still has 4 hours of her shift left, and she’d really like to just go home and eat enough gingerbread to put her in a food coma and sleep.  
  
Any hope she’d had of Beca coming into the café had almost completely dissipated as the week passed, and she tried not to be too disappointed. She was practically a stranger after all, and it’s not as if she owed her anything. That didn’t stop Chloe’s eyes from searching the walls for any artwork though, or lingering a touch longer down the streets she passed on her way home every day, in hope of possibly catching a glimpse of her.   
  
Chloe was a sucker for art, and loved making it herself sometimes even though she never thought she was very good at it. It would probably be her dream job, second to something music related. It was therapeutic, the way her mind would be focused on nothing but the controlled curves of the pencil. The colours were her favourite; the way they sometimes left stains on her hands she thought, made them look strangely pretty. Made her look a little bit more interesting.   
  
Her parents always made her scrub it off, though. Saying it looked grubby and untidy. And well, it was only paint. And Chloe didn’t like the idea of displeasing them, so she always washed her hands thoroughly afterwards.  
  
She’s thinking of the way Beca’s fingertips had been lightly dotted with blues and metallic greys, broken up by the chipped black of her nail polish. She had really nice hands, Chloe remembers. Her hands are one of the main things she remembers about Beca.  
  
So vividly in fact, that it takes her a second to realize that she is _actually_ seeing those very hands right now, tapping nervously on the counter, and not actually just picturing them in her head. This time however, the blue sprays have been replaced with deep reds and purples, with a spattering of white. With the realization of what she’s looking at, she snaps her head up to meet Beca’s timid half-smile.   
  
“Beca, hi!”  
  
The half-smile turns into a full, but curious one at that, and Chloe wonders if she’s surprised that Chloe remembers her name. Which, _of course_ she does.  
  
“Chloe Beale,” she says with a nod.   
  
Suddenly, Chloe doesn’t really know what to say, which is a situation she rarely ever finds herself in. She feels kind of silly, being speechless and awkward in front of a girl she’s only met once.   
  
“You _came_. I wasn’t really sure you would,” is what she goes with. Beca just smirks.  
  
“Oh good, I’d hate to be predictable.” The teasing makes her eyes glitter, and Chloe remembers how much she liked them when she saw them properly the first time.   
  
“Hmm, obviously just couldn’t resist the chance to see me again, huh?” Chloe offers with a wink. Beca’s smirk falters a little, and she blinks a few times in a way that Chloe thinks is just precious. She goes back to drying coffee mugs, hoping to hide her smile.  
  
“Nah. Just thought I commit enough crime already, I’d hate to add ‘not trying a Sugar House muffin’ to my record.”  
  
It’s probably ridiculous, how happy it makes Chloe that Beca remembers the conversation they had, and she can’t find the strength to suppress her smile any more. She grins, whipping Beca lightly with the wet hand towel from across the counter.  
  
“Ugh, liar.”   
  
Beca just flaps her hands at it helplessly. “Ew, dude! Gross,” she says, brushing off her jacket when Chloe pulls back. She’s cringing, but smiling so Chloe knows she’s not really annoyed. “If I’d known how awful this service was gonna be, I would have made a beeline for Starbucks immediately.”  
  
“Pfft, please. Starbucks muffins have nothing on these,” Chloe says, gesturing to the glass cabinet to her right. “Seriously, though. Can I get you something? Since apparently you are in fact here for the muffins and not the hot redheaded waitress we have?”  
  
Before answering, Beca gives a roll of her eyes, shoving her red and purple hands into her pockets which kind of makes Chloe disappointed because they look really pretty. Like a piece of art themselves. She _really_ wants to see what Beca has been painting today, because purple is her second favourite colour after yellow, and Beca’s art was amazing. Granted, she’s only seen the one piece, but it _really_ was.   
  
Beca isn’t wearing her paint spattered parka today. Instead she has a red tartan scarf that hangs loosely around her neck, and a sheepskin lined black denim jacket. Her brown curls are down loose again, but they’re tucked underneath her scarf.  
  
Chloe finds herself wanting to untuck it for her and smooth out her hair, but Beca is speaking before she registers the thought. “Uh, yeah. I’ll get a cappuccino please, and whichever baked good you think is nice. Nothing with raisins though,” she says with her scrunch of her nose.   
  
Chloe considers the array of cakes and muffins for a few seconds, before putting the biggest slice of fudge brownie into a brown paper bag and setting the machine up for Beca’s coffee. When she looks back at Beca, her hands are back out of her pockets and tapping out a rhythm against her thighs, looking at the painting adorning the walls of the café. She finishes making Beca’s coffee, but doesn’t really want her to go just yet, and there’s no one waiting behind Beca so she takes advantage.  
  
“So, what masterpiece have you decorated the town with today?” she asks, nodding towards Beca’s hands as she passes her bag and coffee. Beca looked kind of embarrassed, and Chloe really wishes she didn’t; honestly, Beca should be nothing but proud of her talent.   
  
“Nothing special enough to _not_ get me arrested,” she shrugs, taking the items out of Chloe’s hand. “If I was dumb enough to get caught, that is,” she added with a wink and a click of her tongue. “Um, how much do I owe you?”  
  
Without thinking, Chloe just waves her hand dismissively at Beca. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. Consider it a thank you for taking me home.” Beca looks down at her boots shyly, and Chloe just hopes Beca doesn’t think it’s weird that she’s paying for her coffee. She almost wants to take it back, but then Beca looks up with a small smile on her face.  
  
“Are you sure?” Chloe just nods. “Thanks.”   
  
“Oh, it’s really fine. I mean, it is if you promise to show me your new art later?”   
  
Worth a shot, right?  
  
Apparently it was, because to Chloe’s delight, Beca is grinning. “Okay, fine. But _only_ if this,” she says, shaking the brown bag lightly in the air, “is as good as you promised it would be.”   
  
“It will be,” Chloe replies, confidently. “I finish at 5.”  
  
“Awesome. See you, Beale.”  
  
She’s out the door before Chloe can say anything else, but Chloe suddenly feels a lot more awake, and a lot happier about having another 4 hours of her shift left. She just hopes it doesn’t drag.


	3. Nothing ever lasts round here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a feeling that this fic is going to be a tortuously slow burn, but that's only because I just love writing it. So, I hope you all enjoy reading it just as much.

Beca really is glad she didn’t make that detour to Starbucks. She had considered it, wondering if it would be weird if she showed up at Chloe’s café after a whole week. If Chloe would even remember her or care that she’s there. What if Chloe hadn’t even been at work? It would have all just been humiliating, really.  
  
But she _needed_ coffee, and Sugar House was ten minutes closer. (There was also the possibility that Chloe _would_ be there, and happy to see her. But Beca isn’t one for getting her hopes up.)  
  
So she’d taken a chance, and received a gorgeous toothy grin in response, as well as an insanely good fudge brownie, a perfectly roast coffee, and plans for later in the day. A much better alternative to being served an overpriced Starbucks by a dorky, over-enthusiastic college grad.  
  
She had a few hours to spare until she had to be back at Sugar House for when Chloe’s shift finished. So, dusting off the brownie crumbs on her jeans and draining her coffee, she made her way to Luke’s parent’s house, opting to take the long walk there and leave her motorbike on the street around the corner from the café. She had nothing better to do, really, and the weather was the kind of fresh but not icy cold that she liked. It made her feel like she could breathe a little easier.  
  
She would have gone home and worked on her mixes, but her dad and Sheila _both_ have the day off today, and just being in the same house as them would have made the underside of her skin itch. Not that it ever felt like a home, anyway. Luke’s house was much closer to that definition.  
  
It’s been 8 months since Luke died, but she still visits his parents sometimes, usually with paint still on her fingers. They never say anything about it, they just look at her fondly. Sometimes with a twinge of sadness depending on how good of a day they’re having. If they’re missing Luke too much.  
  
They know all about the graffiti-ing, and had stopped trying to get Luke to not do it any more years ago. It was a crime, sure, but it made him happy and he wasn’t hurting anybody, so they let him do it.  
  
Beca had learned to paint from Luke, but she hadn’t really done it herself until after he died. Instead, she just used to sit against the wall as he painted, making mixes with her laptop balanced on her knees and headphones in. Occasionally she’d call Luke over to listen to something, or she’d suggest something to make his painting better when she finally stood up to see what it looked like. Seeing the bare walls all over town after Luke died just kind of made her chest ache, so she started to graffiti herself using Luke’s old spray paints. (It helps, with the aching. But only slightly.) It was almost always the middle of the night when they’d hang out like this; “Less chance of getting caught in the dark, Becky,” he’d tell her whenever Beca would yawn and complain. She would hit him hard on the shoulder for the _awful_ nickname, and Luke would always buy her a milkshake at the diner when they were done. Beca doesn’t go there anymore, though.  
  
Luke was the person who had taught her how mix music too, even though she’s now better at it than he ever was. But he was probably a better painter, and nothing had ever really been a competition between them unless they were seeing who could eat their burgers the fastest at the diner.  
  
She misses him a lot.  
  
Luke’s house was where she’d pretty much spent most of her childhood (albeit the years from when she was 12 when her parents divorced, until when she was 16 when she had to move back in with her dad. Luke had been so happy to see her again, she _swears_ he was seconds from snapping her rib when he lifted her into a hug.) It’s a place where she has **always** felt welcome, even for the two weeks after Luke’s funeral – Mark and Jen, Luke’s parents, had let her sleep on the couch every night.  
  
Beca never feels welcome at her _own_ house. But she doesn’t really care. Doesn’t think she needs it.  
  
When she arrives a half an hour later, she’s swept into Jen’s arms into a tight, quick hug and ushered into the kitchen.  
  
“Beca, love,” she says warmly, “how are you? It’s been a few weeks since we saw you. I’ve been trying not worry, gosh, you’re almost eighteen now. You can take care of yourself, I’m sure. But, well I can’t help it.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Beca says, taking a seat at the kitchen island. Before she can say anything else, Jen has put a glass of water down in front of her, which she accepts with a small smile.  
  
“Can I fix you some lunch? I’ll bet you haven’t eaten today. Chicken and mustard sandwich?”  
  
“I just had a brownie actually,” Beca defends, but Jen just ignores her and starts making the sandwich anyway. “How’ve you been? How is Mark?”  
  
“We’re fine, thank you. Mark is at work today. Keeps rambling about how he just wants he wishes his boss would stop stealing his post-its or something,” Jen says, waving around the knife in a careless way that reminds Beca so much of Luke. “How about you, have you broken up for winter break yet?”  
  
“Yeah, yesterday.”  
  
“Oh, lovely. Have you decided if you’re going to enrol at Barden yet?”  
  
And if there’s anything Beca did _not_ come here for, it’s that. Her dad has been incapable of talking about anything else but scholarships and societies and degree programs since she entered her finally year of high school. She’s heard about it so much it makes her stomach churn, and she thinks if she has to talk about it for any longer she might legit throw up.  But it’s Jen who’s asking, and Beca knows she’s only curious and wants the best for her. It’s just a shame that what Beca thinks is “best” isn’t what every other adult in her life seems to agree with.  
  
“No. Not yet,” she says, hoping the firmness of her tone will hint at Jen to drop the subject. She does.  
  
“Well, you’ve got plenty of time to decide.”  
  
There’s plenty of reasons why Beca doesn’t want to go to Barden. The main one being, that she wants to go to L.A. and hopefully get a job at a record label where she can _finally_ start making some **real** music. Another reason being that frankly, school sucks. And she really doesn’t think she can deal with another three years of it. She likes _learning_ , and she’s pretty good at math and Biology. But school just sucks the fun right out of it. Music is what she **needs** to be doing, so much that sometimes she thinks her body is craving it, with the way her hands are always absentmindedly searching for surface to tap out a beat against. The art helps with that, too. “Restless hand syndrome” is what Luke had called it.  
  
At the mention of Barden, Beca remembers Chloe had said she studied there. She wonders what subject it is Chloe takes and if she enjoys being there. Wonders if Chloe likes music and what kind. If she can sing or play an instrument. One of the main things Beca had remembered about Chloe was her voice, and upon hearing it the first time, had thought that she probably had an awesome singing voice.  
  
Not that Beca cares. She’s just… curious, maybe.  
  
Jen slides the sandwich plate over to Beca which breaks her out of her thoughts. When Beca reaches out to take it, Jen halts her motion, placing a tentative hand over Beca’s colourful fingers. “You’re being careful, right? I know you love it, Beca. Luke did, too,” she pauses, and they both look down for a moment at the mention of him. Jen takes her hand away. “I just hate to think of you being caught… red-handed,” she says and laughs brightly and freely, which assures Beca that she’s not mad at her or anything. Immediately, the slight sad tension that had settles seems to disappear completely.  
  
Something Luke had also been really good at. Beca wishes she could do that, instead of usually being the cause of it.  
  
Beca laughs with, but there’s an element of seriousness in Jen’s tone that indicates she still wants reassurance.  “Honestly, don’t worry. I don’t plan on being in handcuffs any time soon.”  
  
Jen looks placated, but there’s a warm concern in her eyes that makes Beca feel a bit warm and weird. The idea of someone caring **that** much about her. Thankfully, Jen starts talking about her job, and Beca listens politely, pausing from eating her sandwich every so often to offer appropriate comments.  
  
They sit in the living room after. Jen reads her book and Beca sits at their piano in the corner, plucking the keys softly hoping to craft together the melody she’s had in her head since leaving the café earlier.  


	4. Embrace the point of no return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shortish chapter, just to make up for the delay. The next one will hopefully be longer and get the ball rolling. I have so many ideas for later in the fic, I just have to set the scene first which is what I've aimed to do with this chapter. So hopefully I've managed that. Regardless, enjoy!

Just as Beca is turning the corner down the street to Sugar House, she sees Chloe walking out of the door and wrapping a light blue scarf around her neck. Something in her stomach twists, and it throws Beca off a bit. There was exactly zero reason to be nervous, and Beca feels stupid for even considering that nerves might be the cause. She had literally only spoken to the girl twice, and was never one to care whether she impressed people or not.

 

But the idea of showing Chloe her painting made her feel uneasy. As if she _cared_ if Chloe liked it or not. Only a few metres away from where Chloe is waiting outside the door, Beca is so close reconsidering the offer, tapping her hands erratically on her legs to shake out some of the sudden tension she’s feeling. But then Chloe notices her and is beaming that disgustingly endearing grin, and she can’t think of one reason why she should be worried about this.

 

“Hi!” Chloe greets brightly. For a moment, Beca thinks she might hug her again, like she did the first time, but thinks better of it. Beca is grateful for it. She doesn’t even like hugging her _mother_ never mind someone she barely knows. It all just seemed a bit pointless to her, the platonic affection thing. It never served her any purpose if it wasn’t one of the rare times she felt she needed comfort (like hugging Jen after Luke’s funeral, maybe).

 

Beca gives her a small smirk. “Hi yourself.”

 

“Come on then, show me your most recent masterpiece, Beca Mitchell.”

 

Beca just rolls her eyes and pivots where she stands to walk off in the direction of the alley she’d been in earlier that day, not waiting for Chloe to follow. Chloe catches up with what Beca swears could be described as a literal skip, and Beca resists the urge to roll her eyes again. How can anyone be so damn sunny and cheerful? Especially after a long shift at work. If Beca had to work that long at her dad’s book store, she would be crawling by now. (Especially since her dad tries to limit her caffeine consumption where he can, after an unfortunate trip to the hospital when Beca had been having heart palpitations and vomiting. Too many cans of redbull and sleepless music-making nights will do that to you, apparently.)

 

“No bike today?” Chloe asks.

 

“Oh, yeah. It’s parked outside the café. But I left my helmet at home, so I don’t have one for you to wear. It isn’t far if you’re worried about walking.”

 

“If _you_ didn’t wear a helmet, why does it matter if I don’t have one either?”

 

That stumps Beca. She simply hadn’t bothered to put hers on this morning, since the streets were pretty tame where she was going. Plus, Beca is notorious for being a bit careless, if not reckless with herself. (She’s a criminal extraordinaire, remember.) She honestly hadn’t really thought about it when she made the decision for them to walk. But really, she was _not_ going to be responsible for killing an 18 year old personified Disney princess. Not to say she was a poor rider, but she didn’t fancy taking any chances.

 

“Well, wouldn’t want to risk an accident and spoiling a pretty face.” The tone is sarcastic, and Beca hopes she’s said it lightly enough for it not to be weird. Platonic flirting can be harmless, right?

 

Chloe giggles, nudging Beca’s elbow with her own that juts out from where her hands are stuffed in her pockets and hidden from the cold. “What about _your_ face? Now **that’s** a masterpiece you wouldn’t want to spoil.”

 

Beca just glances sidelong at her, before looking down at the ground in front. “Shut up, Beale.”

 

The red in Beca’s cheeks is definitely because of the cold winds. Even if they do feel like they’re burning.

 

* * *

 

 

Seeing it again after not having looked at it for a few hours, Beca decides she _is_ quite proud of this one, and she’s glad she showed it to Chloe – for no reason other than her own pride, of course. The lotus is bright red, highlighted and outlined nicely with sprays of silver. A deep purple forms the stem that curls delicately and reaches all the way to the ground.

 

Her stomach twists unpleasantly again though when Chloe doesn’t say anything after what Beca thinks must be at least a full minute. When she glances at her, Chloe’s lips are parted in what could be a pleasant or distasteful surprise. But whatever, she doesn’t even care. Beca just can’t stand the silence, and opens her mouth if only to get rid of the thickness of the air.

 

“So, it’s not my best, but you asked – “

 

She hadn’t even realized she had started tapping her fingers again until delicate fingers were encircling her wrists, abruptly stopping the motion. Her body twists as her Chloe pulls her hands towards her, still halfway through her sentence.

 

“ – Beca. It’s beautiful. Like, seriously. I **love** it.”

Her voice is saturated with nothing but honesty, and there's no trace of fakeness in her eyes or mouth (which Beca really shouldn't be paying so much attention to). And Beca's never been good at taking compliments, but she doesn't often find herself without words either, even if they're sarcastic ones. After a long moment of being stuck in an uncomfortable mix of both, Beca finds the heat of Chloe’s determined stare too much and she flicks her eyes towards the painting again, for anywhere else to look. And she has to admit, it does look quite pretty. Nothing worth the vehement praise of Chloe’s though, she doubts.

 

But when she turns her head back around, Chloe is still smiling softly at her and it’s actually kind of blinding how blue her eyes are. The blue of her scarf just making them seem that more capturing and _wow,_ Beca honestly needs to get a grip of herself.

 

She swallows, surprised to find her throat slightly dry, and pulls her hands out of Chloe’s grasp to push back her hair. “Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome. Thank _you_ for showing me.”

 

Beca raises a mocking eyebrow, sliding on a smirk to replace her slight embarrassment at being praised so much. “Please, like I had **any** choice in that decision.”

 

“You’re right, you totally didn’t,” Chloe clarifies, her words laced with laughter. It’s contagious and Beca finds herself grinning before she even thinks to tamp it down. It takes a second for Beca to realize that they’re literally just standing _smiling_ at each other now, which is probably starting to look weird. She clears her throat, and drops her gaze, praying she’s not as blushing red as she thinks she is. _It’s the **cold** , okay? _Her eyes are snapping back up as quickly as they fell though, when Chloe grabs her arm again and starts pulling her along the alley.

 

“Woah, dude. Where are we going now?”

 

“For food, I’m _starving_ ,” Chloe answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world to be going for food with an almost-stranger. The way she says it indicates that Beca, once again, has no choice in the matter. But whatever, she’s kind of hungry now too, and there are certainly worse things she could be doing than spending more time with Chloe Beale.

 

Who is still, somewhat of a mystery to Beca. There’s a spark in her eyes and a song in her voice that Beca wants to learn without even knowing why. And it’s frustrating, because Beca doesn’t **do** getting to know people. She knows herself, and that’s always been enough. Never considered making friends other than Luke and Jesse, who is her company at school and sometimes at the book store. But then again, watching Chloe talk about her day at the café, voice full of energy and joy, all the while clinging to Beca’s arm like she doesn’t think Beca minds in the slightest (she doesn’t), Beca doesn’t think she’s ever met anyone like Chloe Beale.

 

She is all at once mysterious, musical and magnetic, and it doesn’t take long for Beca to be following her willingly as opposed to being tugged along. Which, if Beca was concentrating on anything other than the sound of Chloe’s voice and the feel of her hand around her elbow, she would have noticed that as a red flag.


	5. Got a beautiful face but got nothing to say

Okay, so, Chloe _probably_ should have asked Beca first if she actually wanted to come with her to get food. She’s not a rude person, but she’s also not one to abide by social cues either. Stopping to ask her hadn’t actually occurred to her until she’d already tugged Beca halfway back down the street. And Beca wasn’t making any protests, so Chloe just kept walking and tugging, and eventually Beca was falling into step beside her and just being held by the arm rather than being pulled along.  
  
Chloe didn’t let go.  
  
She stops short when she comes to the café she’d decided on, unable to hold back a grin when Beca nearly trips over her feet at the sudden change in pace. Beca just glares.  
  
“Come on, trouble,” Chloe says, opening the door and motioning for Beca to walk in first. Chloe steps in after but quickly moves in front to choose the booth near the back, the one next to the heater. Chloe had noticed Beca’s hands and nose were red from the cold.  
  
Beca sighs in relief when she sits down, putting her hands under the table and near the wall where warm air is blowing from. It’s very cute, but Chloe refrains from saying so. She doesn’t think the word “cute” is something Beca Mitchell would appreciate being associated with.  
  
“I’ve never been here before,” Beca says, looking up and around at the open brick walls and small lightbulbs hanging down like stars from the ceiling. They make the blue of Beca’s eyes stand out spectacularly, but Chloe doesn’t say that either, content on just watching her for now. Beca gives a satisfied nod approval at the pictures on the walls. “I like it.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s awesome. I love it here. I always come here whenever I want no one to find me.”  
  
Beca nods, dropping her gaze and pulling her hands away from the heater to unwind her scarf, freeing her hair and letting it flow loosely over her shoulders. Chloe notices a little bit of blue spray on the ends. When she speaks again her voice is quieter than it was before.  
  
“So, what’s good?” she asks, reaching for a menu.  
  
“The breakfast pancakes are delicious, but personally I’d recommend the paninis. They make their own houmous, it’s _insane_.”  
  
Beca bites the inside of cheek, most likely to hold back a smile. Chloe wished she wouldn’t. Granted she’s only seen it once or twice, but Beca’s smile is really nice. “Panini it is.”  
  
When Chloe returns to the table after ordering, Beca is picking at her nail polish, leaving tiny little flecks of black across the table. “I got fries too, hope that’s okay?”  
  
Beca looks up in surprise, seemingly concentrating too hard on her hands to notice Chloe’s return. She makes a vague gesture with one before tucking them both into her lap. “Oh, sure. Thanks.”  
  
“Thanks for showing me your painting today. I really did love it.”  
  
She knows she’s already said it, and Chloe’s quickly noticing that Beca doesn’t take compliments very well. But she can’t stop thinking about how _good_ Beca is at painting, or how pretty Beca looks with paint in her hair, but saying _that_ might be beyond the pale, so she goes with the former.  
  
“I mean, you did give me a free brownie, so…” Beca shrugs, “it was only fair.”  
  
“I also gave you a free coffee.”  
  
“Yeah, but for _that_ you’re getting the pleasure of my company.”  
  
Chloe’s eyes narrow teasingly. “Fair enough.”  
  
They keep the conversation light, and Chloe is surprised at how easy having a conversation with Beca is. Well, mostly its Chloe talking _at_ Beca, but she knows Beca’s listening because she’s nodding and making appropriate comments in all the right places. She doesn't say much, but she doesn't seem to mind either. It’s nice, Chloe never realized how much, to have someone just want to listen to what you have to say.  
  
Chloe tells Beca about being at Barden, and how she’s studying Russian Literature as well as Business Management. She also complains that Business management is kicking her _ass_ and that she’s been doing the most random things purely to avoid writing an essay that’s due in after Christmas. Just yesterday she’d spent the best part of two hours making cookies, because “what else am I going to have as a snack when I actually _do_ start studying?”  Chloe finds she really likes making Beca laugh.  
  
In the midst of all this, Chloe also learns that Beca hates school but loves music. Not without prompting, but she answers whenever Chloe asks her questions. That she wants to be a music producer and that’s why she plans to go straight to L.A. instead of Barden at the end of the school year. Chloe catches a glimpse of a tattoo on her wrist every time Beca pushes her hair out of her face and her sleeve rolls up a little. By the fifth time she does it, Chloe has made out the tattoo is a pair of headphones.  
  
She learns that Beca likes reading, but hates the idea of _Russian_ Literature; she’d looked nothing but horrified when Chloe had told her what she studied.) Literature she could understand – her dad teaches Comparative at Barden, coincidentally – but _Russian_ Literature? “Worse than sushi.” Chloe laughs; Beca’s disgusted face is adorable.  
  
There’s no awkwardness, at least on Chloe’s part, nor any intimidation or competition that usually comes with talking to some other teenage girls. Their teasing banter flows naturally, and over the course of their meal Chloe learns just how sarcastic Beca can be. It’s not annoying though, it’s actually quite endearing. It takes her ages to finish the panini, have to take so many pauses to laugh.  
  
For the first time in months, Chloe feels totally relaxed, sitting here in front of an almost stranger. Which should probably feel weird or disconcerting, but it really didn’t.  
  
Chloe also learns that Beca really likes fries and barbecue sauce, which she discovers when steals one and swipes it in the sauce on Beca’s plate and Beca’s mouth falls open in mortification. “Dude!” Chloe feigns innocence, chewing thoughtfully on the fry she’s stolen, and is quick to block her plate from Beca’s outreached hand.  
  
“No, these ones are mine!” she yelps, unable to control the giggles sputtering from her mouth at the look of incredulousness on Beca’s face as she wrestles with Chloe’s arm across the table. It’s the most animated she’s seen her so far, and it’s even better than she would have pictured.   
  
She uses both hands, trying to use all of her strength to push one of Beca’s away from her own plate, and before she realizes, Beca’s brought her other hand around and under to grab three fries from Chloe’s plate. She smothers them all in sauce before shoving them victoriously into her mouth.  
  
“I don’t share my fries.”  
  
Her face and tone is so serious, as though the thought of sharing her food would end Beca’s life, and it sounded so strange coming out of tiny, not-at-all-intimidating Beca that Chloe laughs out loud. It only takes a moment before it becomes contagious, and Beca is chewing through her smile.  
  
Really, Chloe can’t be blamed for when question comes out of her mouth. She’s having such a good time that it can’t be anything but expected.  
  
“So, when do I next get the pleasure of your company?” The thought of _not_ seeing Beca again is more devastating than it should be, and she doesn’t want to impose or put Beca on the spot or anything, and Beca seems to be having a good time too so she thinks it was probably OK to ask.  
  
That is until Beca is just looking at her, eyes unblinking as she stares up from under the same piece of hair that has been falling in her face all afternoon. Chloe feels a slight panic, her smile faltering a little bit, not wanting to have made Beca uncomfortable, or think it’s weird that Chloe asked to see her again.  
  
Just as the panic is seeping into her mouth, forming around an apology, Beca is smirking and Chloe feels relief flood out of her in a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Beca sits back, stretching her legs out under the booth, leaving just enough of a space to not be touching Chloe’s. “I don’t know. Do I get another brownie?”  
  
Chloe laughs, giving a playful nudge to Beca’s legs with her own. “The brownie was for seeing your graffiti. The _coffee_ was for your company,” Chloe clarifies, earning an eyeroll from Beca.  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“If you get both next time, though, you let me **watch** you paint instead.”  
  
Beca regards Chloe thoughtfully for a moment, smirk unwavering, before repeating, “Fine.”  
  
Chloe doesn’t even try to contain her excitement, pulling a napkin from the dispenser on the table and digs in her bag for a pen, grinning the entire time.  
  
“Awes,” she says, pushing the napkin with her phone number on to Beca’s side of the table. She takes it without a word, folding it carefully and zipping it up in her pocket. “I think we’re going to be really fast friends.”  
  
It honestly shouldn’t make Chloe feel so light and happy when Beca chuckles quietly, pushing her hair back for the sixth time. “If you say so, Beale.”


	6. Together in the great unknown

Beca stumbles a little when Chloe asks her when she next gets to see her. She’s not _used_ to people wanting to spend time with her, especially not people like **Chloe,** so naturally it takes her a moment to figure out what she wants to say. When anyone else – usually just Jesse, or her Dad – asks her to “hang out”, Beca’s answer is always a resounding, flat no.   
  
Spending time with other people was always more exhausting than anything else; other people irritated her, small talk bored her.

Chloe isn’t irritating. If anything, she’s invigorating. So she thinks about it, studying Chloe’s face curiously after the question has been asked. Chloe’s smile is so light and hopeful, it’s _weird_. Granted they’ve been having quite a good time, but Beca never would have expected Chloe to want to see her again after this.   
  
She knows she should say no; she keeps people at a distance for a reason. But Beca can’t actually remember the last time she felt this relaxed in someone else’s presence who wasn’t Jen.   
  
And she’d probably been thinking about it for longer than she’d realized, because the hope in Chloe’s eyes was dimming, face morphing from optimistic to something akin to _apologetic,_ and Beca throws caution to the wind, needing to do anything to prevent it from doing that.   
  
She can’t complain though, when Chloe’s face lights back up like turning on city Christmas lights. When Chloe says that she thinks that they’ll be “fast friends,” Beca can’t help but chuckle, because yes, it does seem that way. And watching Chloe scribble her name and number enthusiastically on a napkin, in swirly, slightly erratic handwriting, Beca thinks having another friend might not be a bad idea.   
  
\----------------

It takes her a whole five days to work up the courage to text Chloe. Instead, she pours herself into mixing music, seemingly hit with a huge burst of inspiration that she uses to distract herself from the napkin burning a hole in her jacket pocket.   
  
The jacket she’d shoved at the back of her closet, hoping it would distract from the memory of Chloe’s devastatingly beautiful grin as she’d said goodbye swirling around her head every five minutes.  
  
(It doesn’t.)  
  
She’d never admit it, but it was probably that very smile, or at least the pocketed napkin, that was to do with the fact she’d knocked out three new mixes -- never mind that it was also some of the best music she’d ever produced.   
  
But whatever, Beca puts it down to a random creative outburst and the four cups of coffee she’s drained every day.  
  
Not only does it take her five days, it takes her all of seven minutes to work out what she wants to say and to actually _send_ the text. It’s ridiculous, really. Beca doesn’t deal with nerves well; it’s not a feeling she’s oft to have. It’s so ridiculous that she considers just throwing the napkin away and forgetting that she ever met Chloe Beale.  
  
But if she’s being honest, she doesn’t _want_ to forget Chloe. As nervous as it makes her, the idea of someone watching her paint for the first time, the idea of actually hanging out with someone that wasn’t Luke, she **wants** to do it. Plus, she’s been promised a coffee and a brownie, and her fingers are itching to paint. So, at the encouragement of her grumbling stomach and her twitching hands, she settles on sending a simple:  
  
_Hi, it’s Beca.  
_  
It’s only a few seconds before Chloe’s reply comes through.  
  
**Hello, trouble. I see you didn’t lose my number ;) xx  
  
** Beca rolls her eyes at her phone. Of course Chloe was one of those people who used excessive emojis and kisses. She should have guessed.  
  
  
_Nope. Sorry for taking so long to text, been caught up with things.  
  
_ It’s not a lie. She’s probably spent most of the past five days being completely immersed in mixing. Beats and melodies and basslines are a constant thrum in her head even when during sleep, so Beca is usually unsure if she’s even slept at all. By the black puffiness of her eyes, Beca guesses she probably hasn’t all that much.   
  
**That’s ok. It gave me time to come up with interesting new ways to procrastinate. Yesterday was organizing my alphabetically dvds by director. :P xxx  
  
**_Congratulations, that sounds…super dull. But then again, so does Business Management.  
  
_ Before Chloe has had a chance to reply, Beca’s fingers are typing out another message before her brain can tell her to stop.   
  
_That must have taken some effort, though. Definitely worthy of seeing a masterpiece being created.  
  
_**Thought you’d never ask :P You free at 4? Xxx  
  
** Beca flits her eyes to the clock in the corner of her laptop. 1pm. Which gives her plenty of time to nap and hopefully rid herself of her terrible case of raccoon-eye syndrome before meeting Chloe. Not that she _cares_ how she looks when Chloe sees her. It doesn’t matter. She’s tired, that’s all.  _  
  
_ She fires back a _Sure. I’ll meet you at Sugar House_ and waits for Chloe’s **Yay! See you then <3 xxx **before setting an alarm and climbing into bed. She’s ended up falling asleep for fourteen hours and waking up in the middle of the night wide awake too many times to risk it happening again.   
  
\----------------------------------------------

When she gets there, Chloe is already inside sitting at a seat by the window so that Beca can see she’s there. Beca puts the fluttering in her chest down to the opportunity to paint later.  
  
There is already a coffee and a brownie waiting for her. Chloe greets her with a smile as warm as the coffee she wraps her hands around. “Hi! Brownie and coffee, as promised,” she says, gesturing dramatically to the table in front of her. “It is freezing today, you sure you’re up for painting outside?”  
  
Beca resists the urge to scoff. “Please. The only conditions I don’t paint in is snow and torrential rain.”  
  
Chloe _does_ scoff. “Ok, Miss Badass.”    
  
“Hey, I’m _plenty_ badass. I **graffiti** ,” Beca declares. Chloe laughs and Beca raises the coffee to her lips for the first time to hide her instinctive smile at the sound.   
  
Chloe’s hair is up in a high pony tail today, unlike the previous times Beca has seen her with it in loose curls around her face. It makes her look older, but somehow more mischievous, something her eyes seem to glitter with almost constantly. Beca watches Chloe pull pieces off her blueberry muffin with smooth hands and manicured nails, and she realizes how strange they must look sitting together. Beca in her leather jacket and scuffed black converse, Chloe in a bright blue shirt with a navy sweater over the top and skinny jeans. It makes her wonder, not for the first time, why Chloe had wanted to spend more time with her.  
  
They were clearly two very different people; they belonged in separate circles.   
  
Her brow crinkles in a frown at her confusion, but it’s quickly smoothed out when Chloe knocks back the rest of her drink until its empty, and excitedly taps on the table in front of Beca.  
  
“Hurry up, Becs, I want to see you in action!” she says with a quick wink that makes Beca splutter on her mouthful of brownie. It kicks her off the train of thought that had started at the mention of a new nickname.   
  
Chloe just watches, her eyes full of mirth. Beca scowls, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “Dude, give me a chance. The walls aren’t going anywhere. You spent money on these, at least let me enjoy them.”  
  
“But I’ve been waiting _ages,_ ” she pouts, drawing out the vowels painfully. “You took, like, a year to finally text me.”   
  
Beca raises an eyebrow, entertained by Chloe’s evident enthusiasm and impatience. “Like I said, walls aren’t going anywhere.”   
  
“Whatever, just hurry up,” she says with the flick of her hands in Beca’s direction before unceremoniously putting the rest of the blueberry muffin in her mouth.   
  
“It would be a shame to not appreciate this brownie though,” Beca drawls, crumbling off mouse-sized mouthfuls agonizingly slowly, not bothering to bite back a smirk as Chloe huffs. “It’s so good. I want to savour every mouthful.” She takes her time chewing, and it really _is_ hard because Chloe’s eyes themselves, never mind the predatory stare she has now, makes Beca feel like she’s at the top of a rollercoaster, anticipating the inevitable drop of something dangerous.   
  
_And_ because the brownie is so damn good it almost pains her to keep herself from putting it all in her mouth at once.   
  
They stare at each other like that for a long moment. Long enough for Beca’s face to heat up under Chloe’s scrutiny.   
  
Chloe cracks first, and when she does Beca eats the last of the brownie at a normal, if not hurried speed, much to Chloe’s aggravation.   
  
“Come ooooonnnn, Beca!”   
  
Before she even has a chance to drink the coffee she now has raised to her lips, Chloe is wrapping her scarf around her neck, shrugging on her jacket and is out of the chair. It kicks Beca into motion, and she downs the rest of her coffee. It’s still hot and it scalds her throat. She hisses in pain but doesn’t have time to much else before she’s running after Chloe’s laughter out of the door.   
  
She catches up to where Chloe is now waiting at the end of the street, smacking the back of her hand lightly on Chloe’s shoulder. “I burned my tongue on the coffee, you _ass_.”   
  
And it’s like Chloe doesn’t even hear her. She just grins, and motions for Beca to start walking. “Well, lead the way.”   
  
Beca doesn’t move straight away, fixing Chloe with a scrutinizing narrow of her eyes. “You’re so weird, Chloe Beale.”  
  
“Yes, I know. You’ve told me. Now let’s go,” she says, and has the audacity to smack Beca on the backside, an action that certainly jolts her into motion, jumping away from Chloe’s hand and down the street towards the blank alley near the park that she’s been waiting to get her hands on.


End file.
